


When the Stillness Bends (All the Places We Touch)

by allimarie_xf



Series: Not your typical secretary [5]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Angst, CEO! Oliver, EA! Felicity, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Season/Series 02, Sorta kinda, Unresolved Sexual Tension, conceivably canon-compliant, pre-oliver/sara, so so much unresolved sexual tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 14:03:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15973835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allimarie_xf/pseuds/allimarie_xf
Summary: She looked up and met his eyes for the first time. “You’re lucky.” The warning in her voice let him know she wasn’t only talking about the depth of his stab wounds.Or: the unbearable, inevitable UST of tending to Oliver's wounded body.~~~Season 2 UST and Angst!~~~





	When the Stillness Bends (All the Places We Touch)

**Author's Note:**

> Like the other works in this series, this is a sort-of canon-compliant look into some CEO Oliver/EA Felicity moments. Can be read as a standalone or as existing within the same universe as the other stories. In relation to episodes, I'd probably put it between 2x07 and 2x08.
> 
> (This series is now ordered correctly! Also, I do highly recommend reading everything because even though the stories can be enjoyed alone, I really am telling a coherent narrative.)

Cover art by (the supremely awesome and talented) [@pleasantfanandstudent](http://pleasantfanandstudent.tumblr.com/post/182339561193/my-edit-for-when-the-stillness-bends-by)!!! 

 

* * *

 

By the time Oliver came into view at the bottom of the steps, he was already in the process of removing his hood.

“Oliver, are you okay? Did he -” The grimly intense look on his face stopped her words, and Felicity watched in horror as he peeled off his tech shirt, revealing a lot of blood.

“I’ll get the med kit.” Dig’s voice was neutral.

“Oh my god! Oliver!”

“It looks worse than it is.” The strain in his voice indicated that it was probably worse than he was letting on, but he fixed Felicity with a dark look that defied contradiction.

Instead, she moved to their makeshift med bay and accepted the warm wash cloth from John, who stepped back and crossed his arms, supervising the proceedings.

The blood that covered Oliver’s right side started about eight inches below his armpit and disappeared beneath the waistband of his pants. It was hardly the first time Felicity had tended to a wounded, bleeding Oliver, but that never seemed to make a difference. Every time she found herself in this situation, she couldn’t fight the dark spiral brought on by the reminder that Oliver, for all his heroic stoicism, was just a fragile human. All it would take was one unlucky bullet, one knife plunged in just the right place or at just the right angle, one graceless fall from a building, and that would be it. She clenched her jaw and tried to force away her dark thoughts by focusing on the task at hand.

Oliver was sitting on a stool with his right arm raised so she could access his injuries, and without looking at him she pushed him so he ended up leaning away from her, his wounded side exposed. She began by pouring water over the whole area, washing away the blood so she could find the source.

Distantly, she heard Oliver hiss.

As a way to distract herself from his pain, she began to talk. “So what exactly happened? You didn’t mention this over the comms.”

“He had a knife.”

“You neglected to mention that his knife had you.”

“I told you, it’s noth -”

“This is not nothing, Oliver! You see this? Blood. Lots and lots of blood.” By now it was clear that there were at least three knife wounds, and Felicity decided anger would serve her better than panic. She noticed another gash, a cut rather than a stab, that disappeared beneath Oliver’s waistband. Unthinkingly, she quickly unzipped his pants and tugged, signalling for Oliver to lift his hip so she should could pull them down. Noting that it was only a shallow slash, she returned her attention to the deeper wounds.

She accepted the antiseptic solution from John without comment, their doctor/nurse routine having been long perfected. “I don’t suppose it’s worth mentioning, again, that we have no way of knowing exactly how deep these stab wounds are.”

“They’re not that deep.”

“Or,” she spoke over him loudly, “whether or not they nicked any vital organs.” She steadied against him with one hand on his back as she flushed each gouge with antiseptic solution.

Oliver sighed as she handed him a fresh cloth and guided his hand to the topmost wound. “Press here.” Likewise, she pressed against his other injuries, staunching the blood as best she could.

After several minutes spent leaning into his wounds, the adrenaline coursing through her body began to subside, which was good, because she’d be needing steady hands for the next step. She took a deep breath and peeked at the gouges under her hands, noting with muttered thanks that the bleeding seemed to be slowing down. “Lift.”

Oliver removed the cloth he was pressing against his side so she could check that gash, too.

She looked up and met his eyes for the first time. “You’re lucky.” The warning in her voice let him know she wasn’t only talking about the depth of his stab wounds. “John?”

“Yep, I’m ready.” He moved to her side and exchanged a bloodied cloth for topical anesthetic and a suture thread and needle. The next thirty minutes were spent in intense concentration. Felicity had taken to suturing surprisingly quickly, but that didn’t mean it didn’t require all of her attention.

At last, she leaned back, taking a full breath and  meeting Dig’s eyes in relief and a little bit of pride. “Thanks,” she whispered.

Dig smiled quietly back. “All I do is hand you stuff.”

“You give me confidence.” She smiled in return. “I couldn’t do all this life-and-death crap without you.”

She felt Oliver’s muscles jump under her hands, and she looked up to find him staring down at her like he’d been stabbed again. But Felicity, still aching with residual fear, looked away, unable to deal with Oliver’s emotions at the moment. She took a deep breath and looked at John, reassuring him that she was fine and would be able to handle things from this point.

He stood up, and a moment later Felicity was alone with a brooding Oliver. She reached for the adhesive tape and placed it into Oliver’s idle hands, silently directing him to begin tearing strips into appropriate lengths.

She held a square of thick gauze against his side and pressed a strip of adhesive against it, smoothing her hands along his skin to secure it. For a long moment there was nothing but the tearing of adhesive, Oliver’s deep, rhythmic breathing, and the feel of his warm skin beneath her touch. Not for the first time, Felicity found that the more her fear and anger wore off, the more she became aware of Oliver’s body beneath her fingers, the smoothness of his skin, the firmness of his muscles underneath. And she became increasingly aware of the way he reacted to her ministrations: a quickly-drawn breath, a small flinch of muscles, the sudden movement of a finger, reminding her that he was not just a broken body that needed to be fixed; he was a person, a man who deeply felt both pain and pleasure, who was certainly just as aware as she was of every place she touched him.

Eventually, the only thing left to deal with was the slash that angled toward his groin. Which suddenly seemed a lot more difficult to deal with than it had 45 minutes ago.  

“I need you to...stand.” She didn’t look at his face.

Understanding, Oliver slid off the stool. His pants had been pulled up but the zipper was still open; he lowered the right side again to give her access.

Felicity bent down, studiously avoiding looking anywhere but the cut. She took a deep breath she hoped he wasn’t aware of, and slipped one hand under his boxer briefs, pulling them down just enough to expose the entire gash. Above her, she heard Oliver’s breath hitch in reaction, but she resolutely stuck to her task, placing the gauze over the wound. When she ran her fingertips along the skin below his belly button to secure the adhesive, she had to consciously stop her them from continuing their downward trek.  

Yet when she reined herself in, her traitorous legs wouldn’t simply step back, no. Instead, her fingers climbed back up his body, using him for support as she straightened, so that when she was fully standing again, she was only inches away, sharing his body heat, hands resting on his waist, looking up into his darkened eyes. She licked her dry lips, watching as his eyes followed the movement. His arms remained at his sides, not touching her in any way, but his eyes burned with nameless emotions.

Aware that they were operating outside their carefully maintained boundaries, Felicity took refuge in her fear. “You take too many chances.”

Oliver shifted and seemed to grow taller, his jaw setting firmly. “I can handle it.” He looked at her defiantly, his natural response to challenges to his authority overriding whatever other emotions were bubbling under the surface.

Felicity, mostly glad at the safe redirection of their tension, had never backed down from his menacing behavior and she wasn’t about to start. “Eleven stitches would respectfully disagree, Oliver!” She meant to say it forcefully, projecting the bitter aftertaste of her panic, but his skin was still under her fingertips, its softness reminding her of his vulnerability and she ended on a whisper.

He looked down at her like he could read her thoughts, like he didn’t mind if maybe she could read his too, and it was too much. All at once she stepped back, turning, putting distance between her body and his.

As she gathered her things and left the lair without another word, she told herself that the adrenaline crash was responsible for the intense physical attraction she was certain she saw in his eyes. That, and the natural physical response that anyone would feel after being touched so intimately. She almost managed to believe it.

 

______________________________________________

 

When Oliver walked in after 9:30 the next morning, it was as if the entirety of their personal history did not exist. In this it was like any other morning at the office.

Felicity knew this emotional distance was only one of the several layers of masks Oliver wore on a daily basis. One that she had unthinkingly slipped into wearing, too. As well, she knew the reason for it: it was much easier to go about their roles as CEO and EA if both parties were pretending that there was no deeper relationship between them.

Just as it was easier to go about their roles as a vigilante and his tech support if both parties were pretending there was no deeper relationship than that.

That there _were_ deeper feelings beneath all the layers was only ever to be acknowledged when absolutely necessary, or in times of crisis. There was a certain type of Oliver-logic to it, and Felicity had long ago conceded that it did make the vigilante business run more smoothly.

So when Oliver’s eyes met hers across the office with no memory from the night before, Felicity wasn’t surprised, and if she was disappointed, she wouldn’t admit it, even to herself.

 

* * * * * 

 

At 11:45, as they were standing near the door to Oliver’s office finishing a discussion with a VP of R&D, Felicity noticed that Oliver looked a little pinched and grey. He seemed to have been trying to get Bill Marshall out the door for the past 10 minutes, but she had assumed that was only his natural dislike for unnecessarily drawn-out conversations. But now she noticed that sweat had gathered on his upper lip and there was slight tension in his eyes.

At last, Mr. Marshall headed to the elevator bay and Oliver speared her with a meaningful look. Glancing to be sure their visitor was on his way out, Felicity dropped her tablet on her desk and followed Oliver into his office. To her surprise, he grabbed her arm and she found herself being dragged into the executive bathroom.

“Oliver, what…?” She didn’t bother finishing. Once Oliver was inside, he locked the door and immediately began unbuckling his belt.

The breath seemed to leave her body as he quickly removed his suit jacket and tossed it over the pedestal sink and began tugging his dress shirt out of his pants. She looked up and met his eyes in wary confusion.

“The wound, from yesterday.” He looked at her directly, spoke deliberately. “I think something’s wrong.”

Felicity felt an icy dread at his words, and she nodded, all business. “You have a first aid kit in here?”

Oliver’s eyes lit up in barely-there amusement, as if her question were ridiculous, and maybe it was. “Of course.” He indicated a drawer in the long dresser against the far wall.

She retrieved the kit and when she turned to face him again, he had removed his tie and was calmly unbuttoning his shirt, his unzipped pants hanging loosely from his hips.

Felicity was suddenly and vividly struck with a strong sense memory from the night before: his hitching breath, the feel of his skin, the familiar scent of his body, the heat trapped between them. She forcefully pushed the thought aside and moved to assist him with his cuff links.

“So, wrong how, what are we talking about here?” She began to gently peel the adhesive from one of the bandages so she could peek underneath the gauze, but his fingers over her hands stopped her.

“No, this one.” He picked her hands up and placed them over the lowest injured area, the one that was partially covered by his pants. “It itches and kind of burns. I think it’s infected.”

Felicity exhaled loudly, and the unspoken “I told you so” was clear to them both. She took a deep breath, honestly wondering whether or not she was up to this again so soon after yesterday’s encounter.

Oliver seemed to sense her hesitation, because he brought his hand to her chin and urged her to look up at him. There was apology in his eyes, and understanding. Acknowledgement of some of the things they had been avoiding all day.

It was enough, and she let him see it before she tugged on his dress pants, letting them fall to the floor. And then he stood before her in nothing but his boxer briefs, and she slipped her fingers below their waistband, drawing them down so she could carefully peel the gauze away from his cut. Once the wound was exposed, Felicity could see the angry red, weeping flesh.

“Yep, looks infected. Can you hand me the antiseptic wash and a towel?” She finished peeling the old bandage away, then peered up, up, over the expanse of his bare chest, to meet his eyes as he handed her the requested supplies.

He was regarding her with that undefinable intensity again. “Thank you.”

She nodded, seeking refuge in her task. But she couldn’t escape the knowledge that he could feel her knuckles as they brushed against the sensitive skin of his belly. She couldn’t block out the sensation of her fingertips whispering over him as she applied antibiotic ointment. His slight hiss let her know that he could feel her too, though whether the sensation was more pleasant or painful she couldn’t tell. And she couldn’t shut off her awareness of how close her fingers were to the bulge in his underwear, or of how it was rapidly growing into an impressive erection.  

She continued her ministrations as if it didn’t exist, as if he weren’t standing there hard as a rock while her fingers, her eyes, her lips, were only a bare caress away. She told herself she was trying not to make an awkward situation more awkward, but in truth she was just trying not to cross a line that, once crossed, could never be uncrossed.

When she finished with the new gauze, she hesitated, not sure if it was safe yet for her to look him in the eye. Not fully sure if she wanted the moment to pass safely. It had been nearly five minutes since either of them had spoken, and the silence seemed to protect them, as if things done within it would remain secret and unspoken, held apart from the shoulds and wills and should nots of everyday life.

So she hesitated, the rise and fall of his breathing steady, if a little shallow, under her fingers. She considered.

And then she removed her hands and stood up, keeping her profile to him and not meeting his eyes. She licked her lips. “All done.” She made no move to walk away, just stood there, frozen under his intent gaze.

“Felicity.”

His rough voice seemed to break the spell, and her sudden instinct was to flee, but before she could move away he reached out and wrapped his hand around her shoulder. She remained facing away as he slowly drew his fingers down her arm until he ended up with her hand held in his.

She waited. The stillness was loud in the small space. Out of the corner of her eye she saw his other arm reach toward her, and then his warm palm was against the skin of her neck, cradling her head, pulling her into his body. She let him fold himself around her, and she could hear his heart beating underneath her ear.

They breathed.

“Thank you.”

She nodded against his chest. She felt him sigh and then drop his head so his lips were resting against her hair. She closed her eyes and let herself feel all the places they touched. It was both pleasure and pain, and she couldn’t help but know that everywhere she felt him, he could feel her too.

**Author's Note:**

> Hmm, what did you think?
> 
> Thank you all soo much for your feedback to my other stories in this 'verse! I'm so excited about writing it, and that's 95% due to all your responses. Truly, it makes it worth it. :D (Um, especially because we got spoilers this week and WOW it was kinda hard to pull my brain away from some speculation. Oh how the imagination does run wild. :D).
> 
> And, as I said last time, I am absolutely accepting prompts for this series (and just in general). 
> 
> Finally, the title of this story might seem a little random - it's from Beach House's song [Black Car](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Er0leZrMaqc), which I basically had on repeat the entire time I wrote this. I just couldn't get those words out of my head.


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